


Diamonds in the Rough

by RaeScribbles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fade Dreams, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Hawke Escapes the Fade (Dragon Age), Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, PTSD, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26144452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeScribbles/pseuds/RaeScribbles
Summary: Hawke's arrival at Skyhold was an unexpected shock, filling the air with excitement and intrigue. And though she took it in stride at first, the longer she stayed the more she had to face hard truths.Of a past she could never escape. Of an influence she never wanted. Of a war she never meant to start. And a villain she never meant to unleash.And the more she became involved, the more she clashed with Commander Cullen. A man she knew from long ago. Who once represented everything she stood against. But who struggled with the weight of his past as much as she did. Whose presence she could never escape, even when she tried.A man who would change her life in a way she could never expect.* A branch-off of my story 'Mirrors' at Ch. 16. The first chapter is a truncated version with all relevant scenes and a new extended ending.* An exploration of what might have happened if Hawke had a larger role in the Inquisition* Any chapters that are NSFW will be marked (*) for your convenience
Relationships: Female Hawke/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Shards of the Champion (by RaeScribbles)





	1. A Leap of Faith

* * *

Skyhold was abuzz as the news spread like wildfire: the Champion of Kirkwall had come out of exile and arrived in secret to assist the Inquisition. 

Hawke took the attention in stride, as she usually did, ignoring Varric’s warnings to stay hidden and decided to make herself familiar. After all, what was the point in hiding? The Inquisitor made it clear that investigating the Wardens wasn’t at the top of her list, so she’d be stuck hanging in limbo. Might as well get to know everyone and find some company to help pass the time. 

It was a whirlwind of names and first encounters which left Hawke’s mind full to the brim with questions and intrigue about Skyhold’s many colourful residents. But there was one in particular that tickled the back of her mind.

Cullen.

She’d quite literally bumped into him on her first day, and found him almost unrecognisable from their days in Kirkwall. It seemed years had treated him particularly well, and he was far more dashing and handsome than he’d any right to be. And there was something in his breathless greeting and wistful smile that caused an uncomfortable flutter or three. Strong enough that she found herself flushing, stammering and making a quick escape to the tavern.

_Awkward_.

Just when she’d begun to forget their stilted greeting, Hawke found herself summoned to Cullen’s office the following afternoon. She’d finished a rousing duel with Cassandra that both alarmed and entertained all of Skyhold, and was feeling embarrassingly stiff and sore afterwards. She knew she’d gotten soft her last few years in exile, but the way her body shouted and complained with every movement, it was clear just how soft. Time to get back into fighting condition.

She’d retreated to the tavern, and was in the midst of getting a rather skillful massage from Bull when Josephine stopped in to check on her, and mentioned Cullen was looking for her. Looking for her? Why? Still, he’d piqued her curiosity enough that she was compelled to find out, and hobbled her way towards his tower. 

Once there, she hesitated as her hand raised towards the door handle. Was she really prepared for a chat with someone who knew her from Kirkwall? Not that he even knew her very well; they’d crossed paths a handful of times but it wasn’t as though they were friends. Friendly perhaps, but Hawke was friendly with everyone.

Still, it made her feel… exposed, as though her bum were hanging out in the breeze somehow.

She sucked in a sharp breath and rapped on the door, waiting for a muffled ‘Come in’ before she opened it and peered curiously inside. There was a warmth to the office; papers strewn on top of the Commander’s desk, bookshelves across the room, other random clutter to her left. And as her eyes finally fell on the man himself, she noticed a flush on his cheeks and a nervous smile on his face. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Lady Hawke, I-- what brings you my way?” he asked softly, clearing his throat mid-sentence and motioned for her to take a seat, although there weren’t any chairs in the immediate vicinity.

Hawke gave him a casual shrug, watching with veiled amusement as he rushed to pull up a chair, gesturing again and she sat down stiffly, noting the way his fingers fidgeted. “Lady Montilyet said you were asking about me, so here I am.”

“She did? Oh, I wasn’t-- well, I suppose I was,” he chuckled and murmured to himself, rubbing the back of his neck before giving her a furtive look. “I saw your sparring match with Lady Cassandra… it’s been some time since I saw you fight but you were just as skilled as I remembered.”

“I’m a bit out of practice, afraid it’s showing after the fact. But ah well, if it means she’ll stop thinking of murdering Varric and I, it’s well worth the aching muscles,” she smirked, leaning back in her chair and shaking her hands out.

“Yes, she was furious when she found out about your arrival, mostly because Varric insisted he had no clue where you were,” Cullen said reproachfully, although a small smile still hung on his lips.

“Well, of course he did,” she said blithely, gripping the armchairs and lifting herself up as she tucked a sore leg underneath herself. “I hope you at least understand why I hid. You were there, you saw what happened.”

“I did, and I can’t help but feel at least partly responsible for how things turned out. If only I’d noticed sooner, really seen what was happening…” His words trailed off and he sighed, turning away from her and placing a hand on his hip. “It wasn’t right that you took the brunt of the blame. We all played our part in the destruction of Kirkwall, whether we intended to or not.”

“Valiant of you to say, but you always were the single example of all that a Templar should be, and all that they weren’t,” she smiled tightly, placing her hands in her lap and shifting in her seat. It was easy to see him as the Commander of the Inquisition, one of Lady Lavellan’s advisors; to forget who he was and what he used to be. And she was finding it difficult yet again to put aside their most basic differences, the natural places of opposition they’d always found themselves in, as mage and Templar, even though they’d managed to work together in the end. There was always a lingering resentment she could never quite snuff, as hard as she tried to be ‘the better person’.

Cullen sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing his lips together, brow knitted and looking troubled. “Perhaps but I’m… I left the order some time ago, my lady. After Kirkwall, in fact. I'm no longer a Templar,” he said carefully, tilting his head her way to discreetly gauge her reaction.

“No longer-- really? Is it rude of me to say I’m glad to hear it?” Hawke bit her lip and smiled, laughing quietly with the Commander when he met her widening grin.

“Not in the least, after what you went through. It hasn’t been easy, but I believe it’s been worth the sacrifice. I cannot be part of an order that would sanction such violence, that would risk so many innocent lives, that would embrace an ‘ends justify the means’ mentality. There must be a better way, and we should have been the ones to search for it,” he sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her, eyes lingering on her face with a small and wistful smile.

“You give me hope, Commander. Perhaps if you’d had a higher ranking… well, no point in looking back and wondering ‘what if’,” she sighed, tilting her head when she saw an odd look in his eyes, rubbing her cheek with mild embarrassment. “... is it me you’re seeing, Commander Rutherford, or my cousin?”

Cullen cleared his throat and broke his gaze, rubbing his cheek with a soft laugh. “I’m sorry my lady, I didn’t mean to stare, but you have her eyes; the palest green… I’m sure I’m not the first person to comment on how closely you resemble one another.”

“No, and I take no offense to it. I’d been told you had a crush on Warden Amell, but I didn’t quite believe it until now,” she mused, leaning back in the chair and folding her hands over her stomach.

“I-- it was a long time ago. A boyish infatuation, nothing more,” he mumbled uncomfortably, pressing his lips together tightly before hesitantly meeting her steady gaze. “Yet another example of what a mage could be, or should be. Greatness seems to run in your family, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t believe you can classify any of my actions as ‘great’, Commander,” Hawke chuckled, shaking her head and sighing with mild amusement. “She saved the world. I set fire to a city. _Twice_. And then there was this little thing about a war between Templars and mages.”

“Ah yes, that little kerfuffle,” Cullen said wryly, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth as he watched her, opening his mouth hesitantly for a few moments. “May I ask a question, Lady Hawke?”

“Of course you may, Commander.”

“Cullen, please. I think we’ve been through enough together that you can forgo some formality,” he said softly, mirroring her position by resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, and lacing his fingers over his stomach.

“Ask away, Cullen. I’m an open book,” she said impishly, the twinkle in her eye teasing the opposite.

“Have your feelings on Templars changed, in the years since Kirkwall?”

Hawke licked her lower lip, brow wrinkling as she started at the ground in careful thought. “Well, considering they took it upon themselves to hunt down ‘my people’ like stray vermin, and a good number of them are back on red lyrium… I’d say no, not really. I've yet to see someone wield that kind of power over others and not become corrupted by it in the end, except for a very precious few. What about your feelings on mages? Do you see us as people yet, or are we still dangerous ants milling about, existing only to be contained and feared?”

The Commander shifted in his seat, feeling the sharpened point in her words, and looked away as he turned her questions over in his mind. “I understand that not all mages are the same, just as all Templars are not the same. I still believe magic is dangerous if not properly controlled but… trust cannot be built without room to grow. Room for… understanding.”

“Mm. You aren’t wrong, I may even find myself reluctantly agreeing. It seems Kirkwall has shaped you for the better, I’m glad to see it,” she murmured with a smile, resting her chin on her palm as she looked at him with unabashed admiration.

“You had as much to do with that as Commander Meredith,” he admitted timorously, scratching his jaw as his eyes were drawn back to the curled-up mage. “You helped mage, civilian and Templar alike during your time in Kirkwall, even with your low opinions of us. You consistently used magic with a strength and discipline that outmatched even the First Enchanter; you never once gave into temptation or desperation. You, an apostate who’d never stepped foot in a Circle. It was difficult not to pay attention, to question what I thought I knew.”

“I suppose my experience as a mage has been very different. I feared Templars and the Circle like many others, but never magic or myself. I was taught to embrace who I was, to trust it above anything else, to harness magic but never at the expense of myself or others. And I believe the same might be said of any other mage if given that chance, that freedom,” she replied thoughtfully, giving him a warm smile as he mulled over her words.

“A lofty ideal, certainly, but I fear that may not be the reality,” he sighed, squeezing the back of his neck and offering her a hopeful smile. “Still, perhaps with your arrival there may be a better chance to attain it. Right or wrong, your name still holds weight. The mages look to you as an example, especially amongst the Inquisition.”

“No pressure, hm?” she said wryly, untucking her leg and getting up to stretch her stiff muscles idly. “Well, I promise I’ll try not to set Skyhold on fire. Really wouldn’t want to resurrect that trend.”

“That would be much appreciated, I’m sure,” Cullen chuckled, watching as she placed her hands behind her back and began pacing. “Will you be with us long?”

“I’ve been asked that question more than any other since I arrived,” she said worriedly, tightening her hands around each other. “And I’ll give you the same answer I’ve given every time; it’s not up to me. I’ll offer what help and advice I can, the rest is up to your Inquisitor. She’s leading this crusade, not me.”

“Fair, though after the War Room meeting I attended this morning, it may interest you to know that she has no intentions of letting you go anytime soon,” he smiled, laughing softly at the disgruntled look on her face. “Do you disapprove?”

“I disapprove of anyone who would keep me on a leash,” she muttered, frowning thoughtfully as she walked over to the window, staring at the fortress proper. “I would remain as I am, and answer to no one.”

“Rebellious till the end?” Cullen asked wryly, his smile widening at Hawke’s sheepish laugh.

“I suppose it’s in my nature,” Hawke scrunched her nose and smiled, tilting her head in his direction but her eyes were distant, unaware of the pink flush growing on his cheeks. “Still, it’s been drummed into my head rather forcefully that this threat is far greater than my numerous personal misgivings. And it’s my duty and responsibility to help all I can. So for the moment… that’s what I intend to do.”

“And I’m sure we’ll be better for it,” he murmured, meeting her gaze steadily, in a way she didn’t quite understand. There was something behind his eyes… Hawke suddenly cleared her throat and looked away, feeling her own cheeks beginning to grow warm.

“That remains to be seen, Com-- Cullen. Time will tell what help I’ve actually given,” she quipped nonchalantly, her eyes suddenly darting towards the door. “Well, I shouldn’t take up any more of your time, I’m sure you have many more important things you could be doing right now.”

“Not at all, I enjoyed your company and a chance to look at the past with new eyes. You’re welcome to visit anytime,” he said quickly, standing up and walking her to the door.

“That’s generous of you to say, I’ll do my best not to be underfoot while I wait for the Inquisitor to venture to Crestwood with me.” Hawke paused for a moment when he opened the door, opening her mouth to say something then shutting it again slowly, thinking better of it. “Have a good evening, I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”

Cullen nodded silently, watching her until she disappeared through the next tower before reluctantly heading back into his office, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

  
  


But it would be a couple months before she did, and not entirely by choice. While he continued to cloister himself in his tower, Hawke busied herself picking up Alistair in Crestwood, socializing with the Inquisitor’s companions on their return, then hitching a ride to Orlais to visit with her cousin Charade and one of Amell’s newly rescued siblings. Any and all thoughts of continuing their chats were driven to the back of her mind, despite a couple… interesting interactions in between. 

There was a certain something behind his eyes that caught her breath. A certain curve to his smile that made her stomach churn. 

_Inconvenient_. 

And the occasional fluttering wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. 

When Hawke returned from her side trip, the apostates approached her and asked if she’d be willing to offer them magic lessons. As a lifelong apostate, her knowledge lay far outside what the Circle allowed. And after she forcibly established a clinic in Skyhold (browbeating both the Inquisitor and the apostates), she’d already spent time teaching them what she knew as a Spirit Healer. Given no one had anything but praise for the recent changes, it never occurred to her that teaching them spells outside of the Creation school would be a problem. 

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Hawke thought she could stop fighting for mage freedom, given the Inquisitor’s choice to side with them as allies. Instead she found herself in the War Room, encircled by the Inquisitor’s advisors and companions, all of whom looked far more concerned than she thought was warranted.

“Champion, be reasonable. Surely you understand the implications of your actions this past week,” Cassandra huffed impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Hawke sternly. “You must have known this would stir controversy.”

“Oh honestly,” Hawke groaned and shook her head, hands cupping her elbows, feet fidgeting at the figures surrounding her in the War Room. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m giving the apostates magic lessons, so what? The lot of us are stuck here for the moment, and they want to learn.”

“But are you really the best person to teach them, my dear?” Vivienne asked with a wan smile, hands clasped behind her back. “The Circles have their own carefully structured curriculum. And as far as I’m aware, you have no teaching qualifications.”

Josephine cleared her throat gently and motioned between Vivienne and Hawke. “I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced. Lady Hawke, Madame de Fer, First Enchanter of Val Royeaux. Madame de Fer, Lady Hawke, Champ--”

“Everyone knows the Champion of Kirkwall. A pleasure, I’m sure.” The mage nodded her head graciously, and Hawke did the same.

“Likewise, Madame de Fer. I’m certainly _not_ the best person to teach them, but as of this moment no one else is willing, and the Circles are _gone_. So unless you’d like to step in, I’m all they’ve got. I’ve practiced magic for three decades and I’m not an abomination. That should be qualification enough,” the Champion said gruffly, bristling at the Enchanter’s cool and calm tone of voice. 

“If only that were true,” Vivienne lamented, sighing and propping her head up with a delicate finger, looking the Champion over slowly. “Just because you’ve demonstrated control and temperance doesn’t mean they will. Apostates are well known to resort to desperate measures.”

“The Champion believes in their capabilities, as do I,” Fiona argued with a soft smile, chest lifting at Hawke’s stony determination. “I’ve been observing the lessons myself. Perhaps her views are unconventional, but her methodology is sound. I’d dare say she’s harsher with them than my Circle ever was, but they are certainly thriving under her tutelage.”

“My intention is to encourage control and exploration with care and consideration, and to demonstrate it openly. To build trust with the residents of Skyhold, and then the rest of Thedas.” Hawke’s words were short and clipped, her annoyance beginning to bubble with resentment. “Being hunted down and treated like rabid animals is what puts them at risk, not simply practicing magic and growing as mages.”

Cullen sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, lines of worry running deep along his brow. “That’s all well and good to say, but I still believe we should have guards trained and ready nearby, in the event that--”

“In the event that what? Like this is another Maker-damned Circle? I don’t think so,” Hawke interrupted impatiently, nose scrunching at the Commander’s pinched lips of disapproval. “This was the root of the Circles’ problems to begin with. If you put guards at their door, you put leashes around their neck again. It does nothing but engender fear and resentment.”

“I’m not suggesting we leash anyone, Champion. But you’ve seen as well as I have what mages can--” 

“Andraste’s tits, am I talking in a vacuum? Am I going mad? As far as I knew the Inquisitor sided with the mages. Not as slaves or indentured servants, but as _equals_! And I’ll damn well do everything I can to make sure it stays that way. I won’t have the Inquisition fail them as miserably as the Chantry has,” Hawke snapped, immediately flushing and regretting her tone when she saw the reproachful look on Cullen’s face. With a soft sigh, she squeezed the back of her neck tightly, “The dam has broken Commander. If we’re to guide the apostates away from desperation and chaos, then they have to be given room to grow. A chance to earn trust, in themselves and with others. It has to start somewhere. Why not here? Why not now?”

“Respectfully, Advisors, I agree with the Champion,” the Grand Enchanter nodded, hands clasped in front of her. “We are grateful for what the Inquisition has done for us, and I know it is more than anyone else has given up to now. But there is truth to Lady Hawke’s words: fear and desperation are what started this war. And I believe as she does, that freedom and a chance to grow is what may prevent this from happening again.”

“No one is saying you can’t teach the apostates. What we _are_ saying is that measures should be taken to protect the mages as well as the occupants of Skyhold,” Cassandra said, irritation swirling in and around her words, fingers digging deep into the side of her temple. 

“And I’m saying that if you’d let them breathe for once in their Maker-forsaken lives, it won’t be necessary!” Hawke argued, chin tilting upwards in a stubborn manner. They were at a standstill, and had been for some time in the War Room; the air between them becoming thicker and more tense with every moment. 

No one was budging, least of all Hawke.

“Then what would you suggest, Lady Hawke, let them roam free without any supervision? And what if the worst happens, and one of them becomes an abomination, or demons are unleashed on the grounds. What then?” Lady Vivienne asked calmly, eyes steady on the apostate.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting!” Hawke cried with exasperation, eyes threatening to roll right out of her head, throwing her hands in the air, to the consternation of her small audience. “And if the worst you all fear so much happens, then guess what? I do what I’ve always done: put them out of their misery. I don’t know why everyone is acting like the sky is falling. You don’t need ten guards watching them, I can take care of an abomination or three on my own. But I’m confident it will never come to that.”

“That’s easy to say, but there are no guarantees with magic. What if it’s _you_ that becomes an abomination? We’re all well aware of your unconventional approach to magic by now, given your dramatic displays. And rumor has it you dabble in schools outside of what the Circles teach. If that’s the case...”

“Imagine that. A non-Circle mage practicing magic in non-Circle ways,” Hawke said dryly, gripping the back of her neck tightly, and desperately trying to reign her temper in. “I’m in no more danger of becoming an abomination than you are, Lady Vivienne.”

The First Enchanter sighed, with the kind of patronizing sadness that had Hawke’s eye twitching and balling her fists instinctively. “But I _am_ in danger, Champion. Every mage is. If you don’t understand that by now, then I fear Commander Cullen may be right. If you insist on pursuing these lessons, and spreading your heresy--”

Hawke gawked at the Orlesian, eyes slowly travelling to the others to gauge their expressions. “... you’re not serious. _Heresy_ . Heresy?! Teaching mages new spells in a controlled environment is heresy? Maker’s Ballsack you can’t be serious! I want to teach them to summon _wisps_ , for fuck’s sake. It’s not as if--”

“And what if something else comes out with them? You’d put them all in danger, just so you could show off and spread more of your parlor tricks?” Vivienne’s lips pressed together with docile disapproval, finger pointing a bit harder into the underside of her chin. 

“What in the ever-loving _fuck_ is this madness?! _This_ is what goes on in the Circles? _This_ is what the upper echelons of the Chantry are spreading? _This_ bullshit?! I’m amazed this war didn’t start centuries ago. Who could tolerate this narrow-minded oppression as long as they have?!” Hawke could feel her voice getting louder the more she lost patience, but she was at a loss for what to do. She was a fool for thinking that the Inquisitor’s stamp of approval was enough. But to see the prejudice alive and well in the Inquisition, and directed towards her no less, was almost more than she could take.

“Champion, that’s quite enough. We understand your passion, and your drive to protect the mages, but we’re not the villains,” Cullen said sternly, lips in a thin, hard line that made Hawke’s head jerk subtly in shock. It was the first time she’d seen him display any assertiveness, and it elicited odd and ill-timed flutters in her belly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as his features relaxed. “We’re not your enemies, we’re on the same side. I wish you would see that.” 

“Then prove it! Allow me some space to teach them further without the Chantry’s ridiculous indoctrination nipping at my heels every second! You were all happy enough to let them run a clinic. There were no lectures while they’ve furthered their knowledge of Creation magic. How can you not see the hypocrisy? If they’re safe enough to take care of your ill and wounded, arguably the most vulnerable people in Skyhold, then they’re safe enough to practice other schools of magic.” Despite the continual butterflies she didn’t understand, her eyes continued to clash with the Commander’s, the fire in both burning equally bright. 

“My dear, it _does_ matter, I wish you could see that,” the Orlesian said pityingly, resulting in a loud and derisive snort from Hawke. “But I’m not sure what we could have expected from a lifelong apostate. I applaud your control up to now, but it’s foolish to consider your level of discipline is the norm for all apost--”

“But it _could_ be! And it _should_ be. Despite what you may have been taught your entire lives, I am in fact not a ticking time bomb, ready to explode into a frenzy of corruption and hungry demons. Neither are _you_ , and neither are _they_. If I am different, it’s only in one thing: I don’t fear magic or myself. If they’re given the opportunity to do the same, they’d be no more of a danger to the public than I am.” Hawke rubbed her temple tiredly, slowly running out of steam, even as she dug her heels in. And from the weary looks on the rest of their faces, it seemed the same. 

All except for the Spymaster, who had stood silent the entire time. Slender fingers held her chin as she watched the drama ensue, sharp eyes taking everything in. 

Cullen’s eyebrows pinched together, most of the allies as ruffled and frustrated as Hawke was. “Lady Hawke, please see reason. I know your views on the Circles, on the Chantry. I dare say the world does, but even so--”

“ _No_ . Under _no_ circumstances will I allow--”

Cassandra scoffed in disgust, lips forming a hard and righteous line. “ _Allow_ ? Lady Hawke I would remind you that you are here at the behest of the Inquisition. You do _not_ run it. If you wanted to be in charge, then you should have--”

“Thank _fuck_ I’m not in charge! I’ll vouch for the apostates. They’re smart, they’re willing, and they have the capacity to embrace their power responsibly and be of service to the Inquisition. I’ll prove it to you once and for all. I’ll handle any trouble that might result from my lessons, and I take full ownership of the consequences. The life and death of all apostates is already on my shoulders, why stop now?” Hawke chuckled bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“We’re just going round in circles, we should leave this for the Inquisitor to decide,” Cullen replied wearily, holding his head in his hands. “We’ve all agreed to defer to her judgement. We should--”

“Excuse me, _I_ haven’t,” the mage scoffed, putting her hand up and looking at all of them with narrow eyes. “I have not now, nor will I _ever_ submit to the Inquisitor, the Chantry, or anyone else who thinks robbing freedom for a false sense of security is acceptable! Wait or don’t. But I. Will. Not. Budge.”

The Commander laughed huskily in spite of himself, shaking his head and rubbing his temple. “Damn your stubbornness, Champion. I don’t think I’ve met a more obstinate woman in my life.”

“Why Commander Rutherford, I think that might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” Hawke quipped wryly, nose scrunching with embarrassment at how far she let her temper run rampant. 

Part of her wanted to apologize for being as stubborn and difficult as she was. Another part was pig-headed and defiant, determined to fight for mages to the bitter end, because it seemed no one else would. And an even deeper part was stunned at just how stern and strong he’d been the entire time. She’d expected him to back down by now, but he weathered the storm that was her like boulders on the shore. Resilient and unmoving. And though she’d never admit it to anyone, not even herself, it sent shivers up her spine. It had her looking at the Commander in a way she never expected, nor even thought possible. 

_Problematic_.

“I could hear your voices from the Great Hall, what in the world is going on? Am I going to have to stop an open brawl?” The Inquisitor asked with a furtive laugh, rubbing the back of her neck and approaching the War Table with uncertainty. Varric, Dorian and Solas were right behind her; it seemed they’d finally returned from their quests and heard the commotion. 

“I hope it won’t come to that,” Cullen said wryly, smiling in relief at the Lavellan’s return, his posture loosening. “I’d rather not come to blows with the Champion, I’m sure she’d win.”

“Because you won’t hit a woman?” Hawke laughed, a twinkle beginning to return to her eyes, somehow feeling pleased when he gave her an assenting nod.

“ _I_ certainly will,” Cassandra snorted with disgust, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her chin towards the Dalish elf. “As seems to be her usual style, the Champion of Kirkwall is stirring trouble.”

“Me? Pffft. I’ve done no such thing,” the Champion replied, offering an innocent smile that none of the newcomers believed for a second.

“Goodness, only a couple months in and we’re starting _another_ rebellion? Wasn’t one enough?” Dorian teased, eyes lighting up at Hawke’s half-annoyed half-amused glare.

Varric groaned and scratched his cheek, looking at Hawke ruefully. “Alright, Hawke. What happened?”

“That’s what’s so ridiculous!” she scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air helplessly. “I’m being pinned into a corner over nothing!”

Solas’ mouth curved ever so slightly, tilting his head and watching the Champion. “Lady Hawke, somehow I doubt that’s true.”

“Master Tethras, I’m not sure how you managed to put up with her as long as you have,” Vivienne quipped dryly, her features smooth and tranquil as always. “She has all the passion and stubbornness of a child. I’d say it was admirable, if it weren’t so horribly misguided.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always thought it was part of her charm,” Varric replied with a wide and relaxed smile, widening at Hawke’s beaming face.

Cullen fought a crooked smile and let out a long drawn sigh, before looking at Hawke with an inscrutable expression. “I’m not entirely sure I’d disagree.”

“Oh bite me, Madame de Fer,” Hawke snorted, though not nearly as angry or snippy as she’d wanted. Her words somehow managed to come out from an almost friendly smirk, as the tension in the room quickly began to fade. “Not all of us were afforded the blessings of perpetual grace and composure.”

The First Enchanter’s mouth broke into a reluctant and small smile in spite of herself. “No, that’s true. I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh on you, given your history. It’s unfair to hold you to a standard that you’ve never known.”

“There we go. Right there. Just had to ruin it. We were almost having a moment,” the Champion laughed tiredly, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders at the Inquisitor Lavellan.

“Almost,” Vivienne agreed, mouth hanging firmly on the right, inhaling deeply before turning to the Inquisitor. “Lady Hawke has taken it upon herself to begin instructing the apostates with magical lessons. Most of us have agreed that precautionary measures should be taken. The Champion does not.”

Lavellan cleared her throat gently, posture upright as she prepared to put on her diplomatic face. “Lady Hawke, is this true?”

“Yes on all accounts. Firstly, they asked me to and I agreed. Didn’t see the harm in teaching them some new spells. Secondly, the ‘precautionary measures’ involved training Inquisition guards as Templars. Posting them mere feet away while I taught the mages, as though it was another fucking Circle,” Hawke scowled, or attempted to, widening her stance as if preparing to fight all over again.

The Inquisitor took in a slow breath, taking measure of her Advisors’ and companions’ faces, eyes sticking on Sister Nightingale, who was oddly silent. “I remember some talk of that back in Haven. Lady Leliana, what do you think?” 

“Yes, you’ve been rather quiet this entire time,” Josephine observed curiously, looking down at her notes. “In fact, you’ve said nothing at all.”

Leliana tipped her head to the side, relaxing her stance and placing her hands behind her back. “I agree with the Champion. The Inquisitor sided with the apostates as equals, and they have done nothing to raise alarm. Despite her caustic delivery, Lady Hawke brings up valid points. The Chantry failed the mages. It was _we_ who instilled fear, _we_ who took more and more of their freedom until they were little better than indentured servants; hidden away until they were of use. We treated them as _things_ , not people. A single Circle rebelling is one thing. Mages all across Thedas revolting? It speaks to our failure. We should have done better, and we should do better now.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped to the floor, staring at Leliana in disbelief. A surge of emotion filled her chest to the point of bursting, and the Spymaster met her gaze with an uncharacteristic warmth. “The Champion has promised to oversee their tutelage carefully, and Grand Enchanter Fiona has supported it. She vouched for their capability, as well as for the safety of Skyhold’s residents, mage or otherwise. She is the first responder should something in her lessons go wrong, and the hold is already well-guarded and filled with capable fighters. There is no need to breathe down their necks. We should break the cycle of fear here, and lead the rest of Thedas by example.”

“I could kiss you right now,” Hawke said breathlessly, emotions threatening to spill in front of all and sundry. “I think I just might.”

Leliana’s eyes widened slightly and she laughed; softly and lightly, almost looking pleased at the Champion’s thoughtless comment. 

Lady Lavellan nodded slowly, hands cupping her elbows and staring at the floor while she considered everyone’s words. “... I’m afraid I have to agree with Lady Leliana and Lady Hawke. I promised the apostates equality, and I won’t break faith now. They’ve already done Skyhold a service by running our clinic, without them we wouldn’t have sealed the hole in the sky, and I trust that they’ll continue to aid us as they learn and grow. I trust the Champion to continue overseeing their education. We are fighting to save the world, and that should include fighting for a better future, for _everyone_.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” Commander nodded deftly, eyes lingering while Hawke offered everyone in the room a half bow, and quickly turned on her heel to exit as swiftly as she could. 

She sped down the Great Hall and had nearly made it to the door when she heard Varric huffing behind her. “Hawke, for fuck’s sake slow down!”

Hawke turned her head to smirk at him, nodding and waiting by the hearth he’d claimed for himself. “Am I about to get scolded a second time?” she asked, brow furrowed with amusement, holding her hands behind her back. 

“Unlike the rest of the Inquisition, I know better than to pick a fight with you,” he chuckled, though his laughter settled after a few moments, and he looked at her with a worried expression and took a few steps forward. “... Hawke, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Hawke frowned defensively, nose scrunched as she avoided his gaze. “They asked me to teach them. What was I supposed to do, say no?”

“You could’ve,” he argued gently, scratching the back of his neck, unable to look at her with anything but deep affection. “But I know: it’s not in your nature. You’re a giver.”

“They forgot them, you know. Used them to close the rift, and that was it. Cast them aside. And the apostates said nothing. You know why? Because neglect is still better than what they’ve gotten used to, what they’ve had to deal with their entire lives. No one else was speaking up for them. What did anyone expect me to do?” she sighed, looking down at the embers and scuffing her feet.

“Fight for the ones who can’t fight for themselves, of course. Drives everyone else batty, but I get it. You helped more than mages back home. You helped anyone you could. I see you, Hawke, even if they can’t.” Varric smiled quietly, and she felt her chest collapse at his tender understanding. 

Her shoulders fell, and she felt her eyes gloss over immediately. Cursing under her breath, she plopped herself onto the nearby bench and gripped her knees, eyes closing as she tried to will the tears away. “... _fuck_.”

“That’s the woman I know and love. Wild and willful and flippant… with the biggest heart I’ve seen. No matter how many times it’s been broken,” he sighed, walking over and rubbing her back as she held her head in her hands.

“Why’s it always me?” she whispered, hands shielding anyone from seeing the tears falling onto the heated flagstone. “I’m tired of fighting, Varric. I’m so tired. But no one else will. No one else ever does. It’s only ever me.”

“I know,” he murmured sympathetically, bending over to kiss the top of her head. “I told you to keep your head down. If you’d just listened--”

“I know, I should have. Then the Champion of Kirkwall wouldn’t be ass-deep in apostates… _again_ ,” Hawke chuckled, her voice empty and hollow, fighting the feelings that were bobbing dangerously above the water. _Get it together, Hawke. Save it for when you’re alone._

Cullen cleared his throat politely behind them, and Hawke shot up from her hunched over position, hoping the roaring fire would dry her eyes before anyone could notice. Her fingers twitched desperately, but she knew that wiping her eyes or sniffling would just call unwanted attention, and she didn’t want anyone to see the Champion with her guard down. “Lady Hawke, could you meet me in my tower when you have a moment?”

She nodded slowly, not even wanting to turn around, taking a silent and slow inhale through her nostrils. “Certainly, Commander Rutherford. Happy to.”

Varric gave him an apologetic shrug after a couple awkward beats, and Cullen nodded and sighed defeatedly before making his way out of the Great Hall. “You really let him have it, didn’t you? I know that look, not the first time I’ve seen it.”

Hawke closed her eyes and silently wiped the tears from her cheeks once he’d left, shaking her head. “No more than anyone else. So… yes, I suppose. I’d briefly considered apologizing for my behavior but… I don’t know. Seems cheap if I’m not sorry for _what_ I said, only _how_ I said it.”

“That does put a damper on things,” he said wryly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning curiously, when Solas paused at the study door. 

But he wasn’t looking at Varric.

Hawke sensed his gaze immediately, looking up at him as she wiped her eyes; stomach churning at being caught in such a vulnerable moment. His lips pressed together and tilted his head slightly towards his study with a subtly arched brow, but she shook her head and tipped it towards the colossal doors leading outside. Solas glanced at them narrowly, taking in a careful breath before placing his hands behind his back and nodding. 

“I’ll be back,” she murmured, bending over to kiss Varric’s scruffy cheek and standing up; quietly cupping her elbows and walking outside with Solas.

It was a strange sort of… _something_ that she’d established with Solas. She visited him most mornings, a bountiful tray in hand as they discussed magic and the Fade over breakfast. Then sometime after they’d come back from Crestwood, he began visiting her in the Fade. She spent most nights dreaming consciously, and having occasional company made for a nice change. So often she was alone, trapped amongst her own memories, whether blissful or nightmarish. 

They settled themselves on the ramparts while Hawke filled him in on the deadlocked argument he’d walked in on. And after listening quietly to her continued struggles to fight alone for mages, he offered to help conduct lessons. A gesture which shocked her to the core, and filled her chest with a hope she forgot existed. 

It gave her such a surge of confidence that when they parted, she steeled her nerves to visit Cullen. Best to rip that bandage off and get it over with.

Easier said than done, it turned out.

  
  


Hawke stood in front of Cullen’s door for what felt like an age; hand hovering inches away from the worn wood. What could he want to talk about? What hadn’t already been said in the War Room? Her skin felt too thin to withstand another row, but she also didn’t want it looming over her head. So she sucked in a deep, shaky breath and rapped on the door. 

“Come in,” the Commander answered in a muffled voice, sounding weary and irritable. 

After another moment’s pause she opened the door and attempted to give him a neutral expression. “You wanted to see me, Commander?”

When he saw her his eyebrows instantly pulled together and the corners of his mouth twitched downwards. “I did.”

“Are we going to pick up where we left off earlier?” she asked tensely, trying to sound light-hearted but failing rather miserably as she closed the door behind her and walked to the center of the room.

“That remains to be seen,” he said wryly, standing straighter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Our argument left me… troubled. In more ways than one. I thought it best to clear the air privately, rather than let ill-feelings linger.”

“Diplomatic of you,” Hawke replied evenly, walking around the room idly. “It troubled me as well.”

Cullen took a deep breath in, closing his eyes briefly before beginning to speak in a calm and controlled manner, “The Inquisitor values your opinions, rather highly, as do we all. But I fear that you fail to recognize the burdens on our shoulders. Burdens that you fortunately do not share. I am tasked with the safety of all Inquisition members; from the civilians here in Skyhold, to the posts we hold all over Orlais and Ferelden. It’s a job that I take seriously; lives depend on the choices I make here. That includes the apostates.” 

“I’m aware. And I’ve heard that you’re doing a marvelous job. With _one_ exception,” she replied pointedly, arching an eyebrow and pausing to face him. “You’re not the only one who bears burdens, Commander. The welfare of the Inquisition isn’t my problem, but the lives of apostates all across Thedas _is_ , whether either of us want it or not. And if you propose something I feel is to their detriment, you can damn well be sure I’m going to say something about it.”

“I weighed the options carefully before coming to my conclusion, Champion. I would never wish harm on--”

“I never said you did.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” he asked with exasperation, one hand finding its way to his hip while the other pressed into the side of his temple. “I’d thought when you first came here... I thought we’d had an understanding--”

“So had I,” she scoffed bitterly, nose curling and shifting her gaze to the window, beginning to stew resentfully. 

“I’d hoped that we would work togeth--”

“So had I!” Hawke interrupted heatedly, flushing at Cullen’s darkened expression at her rudeness.

“Then why do we keep going around in circles? Why must you fight me at every turn?” he snapped, hissing with agitation and shutting his eyes, trying to reign in his temper. “I told you I left the order years ago. And yet you’d _still_ treat me as if I was a juvenile Templar; some zealotus jailor threatening to imprison the apostates.”

“Because that’s what you’re doing!” she laughed in disbelief, shaking her head in wonderment at his confusion. “Call yourself whatever you like, Commander. But you’re still acting like a Templar and you’re still threatening, however unintentionally, to turn Skyhold into another Circle.” 

“I’m not threatening anyone, I’m trying to keep you all safe!” he bit back, both of them beginning to increase in volume once more. “How is that wrong? Wanting to protect you-- protect them!”

“How is that wrong?! Look around us Commander!” Hawke shouted, throwing her hands in the air, refusing once again to back down. She wasn’t sure what stoked her anger more; his refusal to see the truth, or that she was compelled to fight. _Again_ . She was rubbed raw by the morning’s conflict, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. Struggling and failing. “The Circles fell. The world is on fire. A war still rages. Because the old ways didn’t work. Because the old ways were _wrong_.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I wasn’t there with you in Kirkwall? I saw firsthand how wrong they were. I was with you that night. I fought beside you. I left the order, Champion. Because of them, because of _you_. I’m not trying to bring them back, I’m trying to be realistic! Magic is still dangerous, it needs to be controlled. Surely you can’t deny that.”

“Controlled by _whom_ exactly? Not the mages, you made that perfectly clear. By you? The Inquisition? Their guards? When we first spoke you’d talked about understanding. Growth. Building trust. Yet when the moment arrived and the choice had to be made, without a moment’s hesitation you denied mages the rights of any free person. _Again_.” Hawke sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing and shaking her head defeatedly. “And you wonder why I fight? As though I took joy in it. I don’t, Commander, I never have. I’m tired of fighting. You have no idea how tired.”

Cullen sucked in a sharp breath at her words, expression softening and taking a few steps towards her. “As am I. I would not make an enemy of you, Lady Hawke. I know the weight you bear, better than most perhaps. I simply wanted to help you shoulder it, in the only way I knew how.” His words were gentle, too gentle for her to withstand, and she felt them pierce her deeply. 

Hawke’s shoulders fell and she shut her eyes tight, mouth trembling and looking away, silently fighting the despair from bubbling over. “Then open your eyes, Commander. And help me open theirs. Finally see us for what we are. Not monsters, not pieces on a chessboard. _People_. Same as you.” Her voice was raspy and raw with emotion, and his pitying sigh did nothing to help.

“I _do_ , Hawke. I see you. You didn’t deserve it. You shouldn’t have to carry this. And you don’t have to do it alone. Why can’t you see that?” he said softly, closing the space between them, reaching his hands to hover beside her arms. 

With an inaudible curse, she felt the tears spill down her cheeks, avoiding his attempts to meet her eyes; ashamed that she lacked the strength to keep it in. “But you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like. Not for me, not for them. I _am_ alone.”

“Then help me understand. Help me see,” he murmured, his face a mixture of care and concern, hesitantly brushing her tears away with his thumb, causing even more to spill out.

“Do you know what it is to be an apostate? To have a life that’s flimsy and fragile, that could crumble at any moment. To constantly look over your shoulder. To never have a home. To hide. To lie to everyone around you. _Every_ moment of _every_ day, laced with fear.” Her gaze dropped to the floor when he shook his head quietly, eyes rimmed red as the tears choked her words; his thumb caressing her cheek causing her more pain than comfort.

“Because one misstep is all it would take. Because _anyone_ could betray you. How old were you the first time you took a life? How old do you think _I_ was when _I_ did, the first time the Templars found us? How much blood is on my hands? Because they would have ripped us apart. Because someone on a throne somewhere said we were dangerous. They would have made him a lifeless golem. My _father_. The kindest, truest, most honest soul there was.”

There was no hiding the anguish in her voice, and Cullen’s face mirrored her pain. Standing as a silent witness, taking it in, absorbing it as his own. Years of bottled emotions flooded out all at once; things she’d never said before, never shared. Because no one wanted to know. No one cared to.

“He spent his life healing others, and he wouldn’t stop no matter who came for us. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he could do what others couldn’t. Because he believed his gifts were meant to be shared. Because there would _always_ be someone out there who needed him. And they would have stolen it from him. Gladly. Righteously. They would have called him _cured_ . And _we_ are the monsters? _We’re_ the ones to be feared?” Her eyes were puffy and her sinuses stuffed as she fought to steady her breathing, suppressed sobs rumbling in her chest. 

“Hawke…” It was barely a whisper. Thick with emotion. Tender, in a way she couldn’t accept, couldn’t handle. In a way that made her heart ache. The way it used to be spoken, by a person she didn’t want to remember. 

Instinctively he pulled her in closer, but she shook her head and stepped back, defiant even in her naked sorrow. “Did you dream as a child, Commander? Was there a future you built for yourself in your mind? Filled with hopes and ambitions? _I_ didn’t. An apostate doesn’t get to dream. We only have today, now, this very moment. We don’t get to have a future, because we know it may never come.”

She turned to the window, wiping her eyes quietly and hugging herself, desperate to grab hold of her slippery psyche. When he took another step closer, she turned to him and offered a worn and defeated smile. “You see what you want to see, you all do. I laugh, I jest, I play whatever role I need to, to keep me safe. Because I am _never_ safe. Not in Kirkwall, not here, not _anywhere_ . That is _my_ life. That is _my_ reality. Magic: the thing I live and breathe, that makes me me, that gives me joy, that helps others, is the thing that damns me. That would put me in a cage and leave me a husk of myself. So _you_ can feel comfortable. So _you_ can sleep at night. What about us? When do _I_ get to stop fighting for every breath I take? When is my life my own? When do _I_ get to rest?”

“Hawke, please… _stop_ ,” he said breathlessly, moving towards her as though pulled against his will, fighting to breach the distance between them. But that one word was all it took; the tears stopped, and her body stiffened.

She looked up at him slowly and he sucked in a breath, her eyes dark and hooded, like a cornered animal. “ _No_ . I don’t get to rest. I don’t get to stop. I don’t have that luxury. No mage does. You think you see me? See my pain? I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your protection. I’m not broken, Commander, no matter how many times the world has tried. I’m. Still. _Here_. And as long as there’s breath in my body, I won’t stop fighting for them. Someone has to.”

Before he could close the distance between them again, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, wiping her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. It was a mistake to come, she should’ve known better. The one thing she never wanted was to fall apart in front of anyone, least of all him. And the way he looked at her, breathlessly saying her name... it hurt. More deeply than she had words for.

_Fuck_.

There was nothing for it now. She’d felt herself falling off that ledge the moment she stepped into his office. All she could do was try to weather the coming storm. And how was she going to do that?

Wine. And lots of it.

  
  


She made her way straight to the tavern, determined to drown her raw feelings in alcohol. But she wasn’t going to do it alone. Not with Alistair about. Immune to her occasional dark, despairing moods, he stubbornly declared he’d be joining her. If she was going to spiral, so would he. 

Maker, she loved that man like he was her own brother.

Eventually she relented, and begrudgingly accepted his suggestion to invite some of the other Inquisition regulars to join them. 

It wasn’t much longer before the world started to blur, along with the time, which filled itself with increasingly raucous laughter and horribly off-key singing. It was late into the night when she finally stumbled out, bottle still in hand and britches nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t even sure she was wearing her own boots. And whose oversized shirt was this? Not Bull’s, he didn’t wear shirts. 

Rubbing her cheek and veering towards the stairs, she sighed and shrugged to herself. Oh well, she’d probably found out in the morning. _Shit_. She was supposed to teach the mages tomorrow. Cursing under her breath, she gripped the side of her head, leaning heavily on the stone railing as she slowly made her way upstairs.

At least Alistair wasn’t wrong. Drinking the night away with friendly faces was far better than her drowning in her own thoughts. At least, until they resurfaced. With a stubborn grunt, she took another swig of wine, the wind blowing meanly on her bare legs. “Seriously, where the hell’d my pants go?” she slurred wondrously, stopping at the top of the stairs to try and pull the shirt further downwards. 

Nope. Wasn’t working. 

“Hawke, are you alright?” a voice called out softly. Softly and huskily. She couldn’t tell if the shivers running up her spine was because of the voice, or the wind. Maybe both. 

She spun around, more slowly than she thought, groaning when she saw the handsome Commander standing outside the nearby tower. “Oh no, you again,” she muttered, shaking her head and ambling her way down the ramparts. “M’too drunk for more of… _you_.”

Hawke began humming a ditty quietly to herself, lifting the bottle to her hand when suddenly the world began to spin, and her steps faltered to the left. “Ah shit…” She threw up a hand to brace herself on the stone, but found herself bumping into hard steel. 

Cullen sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up and propping her up against it while he pulled his fur-trimmed robe off. “Somehow I suspect that this is all my fault,” he murmured apologetically, wrapping it around her snugly before offering her an arm. “At least let me take you to your room.”

“It _is_ all your fault. But mostly it’s just mine,” she grumbled, resentfully taking his arm and leaning against him heavily. “You’re not making it better, you know. You just make it worse.”

“How am I making it worse?” he laughed with exasperation, tightening his arm to help keep her steady. “I’m trying to help.” 

Hawke threw her free hand in the air helplessly. “That’s the problem! You _care_. You’re all… chivalry and handsomeness and caring and genuine and soft-spoken words and strong and not a pushover and--”

“Most people wouldn’t consider those bad qualities,” Cullen interrupted her ramblings with a wry smile, shaking his head and sighing amusedly. “In fact, most people would consider those _good_ things.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What is?”

She stopped walking, awkwardly sliding her arm out of his and stumbling backwards a few steps until she felt hard stone on her back. She stared at him with narrow eyes, taking a sip and observing him suspiciously. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, placing his hands behind his back. Losing the moment to her thoughts, she suddenly snapped back and focused on him, standing up and walking again. “You’re _too_ good. I’d ruin you.”

Cullen shook his head and sighed, hovering an arm out to brace her, just in case. “You’d think that would be a decision I could make for myself.”

“Pffft. You don’t know me. _I_ know me,” she scoffed, waving her hand sloppily. “I mean, look at me! I’m a mess. I don’t have pants on, I don’t even know where they are! You’d be mad to want this circus. So stupid. Just the-- the _stupidest_ things, and I spin out. I can’t… can’t hold on. I try, Maker knows I fucking try but sometime’s it’s just… It’s too much and it’s-- whose fucking boots are these?!!”

The Commander let out a husky laugh of surprise when Hawke stopped and gawped at her feet. “They’re awfully big. Iron Bull’s?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged dumbly, scratching the side of her neck quizzically before moving on and picking up pace again. 

“You’re right. I don’t know you,” he admitted after some wobbling silence, lips pressing together as he looked down at her. “But I’d like to.”

Hawke shook her head in disbelief, taking another sip and leaning against the ramparts when they were feet away from her tower. “After the lashing I gave to you? After I vomited my feelings all over you? When I’m a drunken idiot with someone else’s shirt and someone else’s boots?”

“And _my_ robe,” he quipped with a crooked smile, and she felt butterflies whirling in her stomach.

“What? Oh yeah, forgot I had this. Wondering why it warmed up all of a sudden.”

“And you were right,” he said quietly, looking at her in a way she didn’t want to understand, but the flip-flop of her heart did all too well. “I _do_ care. If you’d let me.”

Hawke sucked in a sharp breath, a gasp for air like she was drowning, and her eyes glossed over as she stared back at him. Her stomach clenched tightly, so tight that she was worried she might vomit. But she couldn’t stop staring. Time seemed to stop, and she couldn’t hear anything except the mad beating of her heart. He was so earnest. So honest. 

What if she-- for _once_ , did she dare?

Her eyes roamed his face slowly, letting out a shaky breath as she seared every detail into her mind. He had the faintest scar across his lips - where had he gotten it from? He seemed to have a permanent five o’clock shadow, which was probably from neglect more than choice. He was rarely seen anywhere but his office or the War Room. Except for the one time Varric convinced him to come to the tavern to play Wicked Grace with them. 

It was shocking to see him in a normal social setting, appearing relaxed and comfortable. Smiling freely. Hm. He did have a nice smile, didn’t he? It didn’t have any kind of roguish charm. It was small. Reserved. Often just a smidge crooked. But even the barest smile crept up to his eyes, adding an undercurrent of warmth. 

Those eyes. A brown so light it was almost amber. Unmarred by any other flecks of color. And so expressive. She could read him like a book, just by his eyes alone. And such long lashes. Maker, he really was a classic beauty, wasn’t he? Straight out of a story about knights and dragons and princesses. Blond, built, that perfect blend of ruggedly handsome and breath-catchingly pretty. 

And he was looking at _her_. 

She’d be a fool to walk away, wouldn’t she? Who wouldn’t leap at the chance to spend time with a man like him? 

But what could she offer in return? She was a bent and twisted creature now, after all the storms she’d weathered. The last man who’d captured her heart was just as earnest. Doting. Caring. Passionate. 

… and he crushed her spirit in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from. Shattered her ability to trust, both others and herself. Stole any shred of hope she had. Took it with him to the grave. 

The grave she’d put him in.

She didn’t deserve what Cullen’s eyes offered. He deserved better. He deserved someone whole. Someone who could fearlessly take that leap. 

That wasn’t her. Not anymore.

“... Hawke,” Cullen said again, brow furrowed as he took a step closer, a small and nervous smile on his face. 

She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes coming back into focus as she looked at him, lips pressed tightly together. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there, the cold wind blowing around them and icing her cheeks. 

“Sorry, what?” she asked stupidly, clearing her throat and flushing, hugging the half empty bottle to her chest. 

The Commander smiled embarrassedly and squeezed the back of his neck. “I said I _do_ care. If you’d let me. I’m sorry, this is an inappropriate time to—“

Hawke laughed in surprise and bit her lip, eyes misting as she avoided his gaze. She squeezed the bottle tighter unconsciously, then took a shaky breath and offered him a rueful smile. “If I ever dreamt as a starry-eyed girl, it would’ve been you. No doubt in my mind.”

Cullen flushed and smiled, letting out a soft sigh and taking a step closer.

“... but I’m not a starry-eyed girl anymore,” she said quietly, her words barely above a whisper. Her eyebrows knitted together as memories of him over the day began to infiltrate her the forefront of her mind.

Lingering eyes. Bare smiles. A certain twinkle. A certain softness. Breathless words. It made her stomach twist and flutter at the same time. Made her heart begin to quicken. 

“No, you’re not. You’re Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall. The woman who brought a city to its knees,” he murmured, taking another careful step closer, and smiling as he watched the bottle in her hand drop to her side. 

She snorted softly and rolled her eyes, stomach dropping to her feet when she realized how close he was, letting the bottle fall to the stone floor with an audible clink. “That’s what they say. Think you and I both know the truth is a different story.”

“... the truth is you could be a drunk, half-dressed bundle of raw emotions, and _still_ bring any man to his knees,” he teased huskily, a twinkle in his eye as he braced her arms gently. 

Hawke felt a sudden, rude thumping and fluttering in her chest as she looked at Cullen with wide eyes. “I’m halfway to puking as is, butterflies only make it worse,” she laughed in surprise, shaking her head with wonderment when he laughed softly in response. “Who _are_ you and what the hell have you done with Cullen?”

“I grew up, Champion,” he said wryly, cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I’m not the naive, idealistic youth you first met.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she smirked, motioning to him with a disgruntled noise, pressing a hand to her face. “I mean look at you. You’re so… _ugh_...”

Hawke sighed wistfully and shook her head, turning away and stumbling towards her tower door. Cullen sucked in a sharp breath, brow furrowed as he quickly caught up to her. “Lady Hawke, I think it would be better if you let me escort you the entire way.”

“We’re right here,” she argued confusedly, leaning against him when he took her arm and wrapped it around his own.

“Yes. And then two steep flights of stairs to your quarters,” he reminded gently with a weary smile. “Varric would have my head if I left you here, only for you to slip and break your neck.”

Hawke paused and smiled ruefully. “Yeah. He’d kill you where you stood.”

“Then perhaps the lady will indulge me, so I don’t end up with an arrow in my head?” he asked softly, though there was no missing the insistent tug on his lips.

“I guess, it’d be a tragedy to let someone so beautiful die so young,” she reasoned with annoyed groan, clasping his arm properly and letting him lead her inside.

Cullen turned beet red and let out a strangled cough, avoiding her amused gaze.

“What? It’s true,” she shrugged dumbly, sighing quietly and shaking her head. “Life’s strange sometimes, you know?”

“What makes you say that?” he asked with a small half-smile, keeping an eye out as she slipped out of the oversized boots and walked barefoot on the stone.

“Ten years ago, could you have imagined you’d be here? I couldn’t. If anyone had told me, I’d have laughed in their faces.” 

“I imagine I would have reacted similarly,” he nodded slowly, exhaling shakily as he led her up the stairs. “Still, I’d like to believe that everything happens for a reason. That everything in my life led me to where I am now.”

“ _Now_? Where you’re escorting a drunken, world-renowned fool to her bed?” she quipped wryly, struggling to stand up without swaying as he pushed her door open. 

“Even then,” he murmured quietly, eyes glimmering in a way that made the world wobble around her. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Hawke sighed glumly and nodded, pausing by the fire to relight it with a casual flick of her wrist. “Fuck. I’m supposed to be teaching the mages tomorrow. This is going to be horrid. Been a long time since I’ve been this drunk.”

“That won’t be until later in the afternoon. Hopefully a good sleep-in will help,” he countered with a small smile, watching as she sloppily undid her braid and shook her long, wavy hair out.

“Dunno, not quite as optimistic as you are about that,” she chuckled, groaning as she stared at her high bed. “Well. Too late to regret now, I guess.” 

Cullen made a soft noise of agreement, brow furrowed as he hovered his hands around her, biting his lip as she eventually clambered onto the bed. But she didn’t get in right away, turning around to sit on the edge, staring at him thoughtfully.

“... well. I think this is where I should leave you,” he said reluctantly, eyes roaming her disheveled state with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

But he didn’t make a move.

“... you really meant it, didn’t you? All those things you said,” she sighed, feeling heat creep up her neck, shaking her head and smiling in disbelief. 

“Every word,” he said softly, exhaling audibly and hesitantly reaching out to brush some hair away from her face. 

“Ugh. There’s no way you’re real,” she laughed, scrunching her nose and rubbing her cheek. “People like _you_ don’t happen to people like _me_.”

“Then how do you explain my presence here?” he pressed, the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to appear on his lips. 

Hawke frowned, running her fingers through her hair with a puzzled look. “I can’t. That’s the problem.”

“Mm. Well I don’t think it’s something we can solve tonight. Perhaps tomorrow once you’ve sobered up, we can discuss it some more,” he suggested, his tone a strange mix of flirtatious and gentle. But whatever it was, it made her groan loudly as another set of butterflies whipped around her torso.

“Maybe,” she said bashfully, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment at letting him see her like this. At realizing he’d seen her at her most raw and vulnerable, several times over the course of the day.

“Get some rest, Lady Hawke. I’ll check up on you later,” he murmured, nudging her knee with his hand and motioning to the bed with his chin. 

Hawke made a quiet noise of protest before groaning again and nodding, turning away and crawling under the covers. “... mkay. Night Cullen.”

“Goodnight, Hawke. Sweet dreams.” He lingered just long enough to see her curl up, shaking his head and smiling to himself as he left her room, silently closing the door behind him.

And as soon as she heard the door click, she pulled the covers over her head and buried her face in the pillow.

… this was going to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (8/27/20) Sooooo. My other stories are wading in NSFW territory and have to be worked on at home, and I needed something SFW to write at work. And here we are! LOL
> 
> Been thinking about starting this for the last several months. Dunno, there's just something about these two. Mage vs. Templar. Haunted by their pasts. How well each of their broken pieces could fit together. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	2. Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Hawke wakes up with a vicious hangover. 
> 
> And a special delivery.
> 
> She was in for a discombobulating day.

* * *

The next morning Hawke woke up with an angry, throbbing headache and an overwhelming bout of nausea. “Maker, kill me now. What have I done,” she groaned, wincing at the bright afternoon light as she sat up.

She looked around blearily, her eyes drifting to the crackling fire in the hearth. What? It should’ve gone out hours ago. What the hell time was it anyway? Shoving the covers out of the way, she lurched forward and stumbled to the floor. She covered her mouth and whimpered, desperately fighting the urge to vomit where she stood. 

And then something caught her eye. 

A tray sitting on the side table in front of the fire. On it was a steaming pot of tea, a couple thick slices of fresh toast with a side of clotted cream and jam, a couple potion bottles, and a small note tucked in between.

What was all this?

Taking a careful, measured breath, she reached for the note and unfolded it:

_I hope you slept well. I didn’t want to wake you so I’m leaving this for you._

_Take one potion now and another in a couple hours. It should help with the nausea and headache. Make sure to drink the entire pot of tea and try to have a bit to eat, if you can manage it._

_I’ll send someone to check on you later, if you’re still not up._

_C._

Memories of the previous night flooded Hawke’s brain, eyes widening as a deep and horrifying mortification washed over her. Oh Maker. _Yesterday_. Shouting and arguing. Raw tearful admissions. Drunken ridiculousness and--

Slowly, she looked down and noted her state of dress. An oversized shirt she didn’t recognize, and a certain velvety, fur-trimmed robe. Swallowing hard, she tentatively lifted the fluffy collar to her nose, eyes fluttering shut at the smell that wafted out. What was that? A faint whiff of musk, with a hint of ocean spray. It reminded her of a warm summer day by the sea. It was… intoxicating. 

When she opened her eyes, they fell back to the tray. Cullen delivered this? And then she remembered their conversation. About caring and wanting to know her, bringing a man to his knees, even when she was a right fucking mess. Her going on about his looks and being amazing and-- _oh no_. 

There it was. 

A sudden flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach, sending her nausea over the edge. With a panicked gurgle, she ran to the empty wash basin and vomited. What the fuck was she doing? Why had she let him walk her to her room? She should’ve taken off his robe and left. She wasn’t prepared to face tender feelings and the flutters they induced.

Whimpering a few minutes later, after her stomach had finally emptied itself, she reached for a pitcher of water to rinse her mouth out. Disgusting. She’d have to find a decent way to apologize to the quiet servants who normally tidied after her. They didn’t deserve to deal with _this_. 

Rubbing her belly gently, she sighed and looked around the room. Where the hell was her armor? Who had it? Was it still at the tavern? Shaking her head and chastising herself for letting Cullen see past her walls, she filched through her dresser drawers. Any old thing would do, as long as it included pants. 

Eventually she settled on a pair of heavy satin pants, part of a fancy suit she wore in Orlais, and a fitted silk shirt. It’d do for now. But what the hell was she going to do for shoes? All she had left were a pair of ornate heels, and she didn’t trust herself to walk in them right now. _Dammit_. 

Barefoot it was. 

She checked herself in the mirror briefly, lips pursed at the wild state of her hair. Ugh, it was probably tangled. No time to fix it, the gleaming sun warned that her lesson would be starting soon. With a sigh, she gathered up her wayward waves and tied it into a messy bun, bangs creeping out and sweeping across her eyes as always. 

Well. She was mostly dressed now. She picked up Cullen’s robe carefully, sucking in a breath and staring off in the direction of his tower. She’d have to return it eventually, but the idea of facing him sent another wave of nausea spiralling. Maybe later. Or she could get one of the servants to deliver it to him. That was a better idea. She needed to get over her paralyzing embarrassment first. 

Folding the robe neatly, she placed it on top of the loveseat in front of the hearth, and returned to the tray Cullen had delivered. She sighed wistfully despite herself and fought a starry-eyed smile, pushing a couple fingers roughly into her cheek. It was so thoughtful. And shockingly sweet. He didn’t have to. Though maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. He did come off as a deeply caring person, didn’t he? 

Oh no. More nausea. Those butterflies were running rampant.

With a gasp, she reached for a potion bottle and downed it in one go. Wouldn’t do to vomit all over the ramparts. What would Solas say? He’d never offer to help again.

Inhaling shakily, she poured herself a cup of tea and grabbed a slice of toast, sticking it in her mouth. Then she took Cullen’s note and curled up on the sofa. He had excellent penmanship, each word swept gracefully across the page. Did he always write like that, or had he put in extra effort to make it look nice? She couldn’t deny the warm bubbles it gave, making her groan quietly as she took a bite of plain toast and chewed on it slowly. She’d have to find a way to thank him. Preferably without actually having to do it in person. 

As the potion worked its charm, she sipped her tea, mind continuously returning to the previous days’ events despite her best efforts. It’d been a long time since she cried in front of anyone. Her guard was always up with ‘outsiders’. An unconscious habit ingrained since early childhood. But fighting in the War Room had rubbed her raw. And by the time she made it to Cullen’s tower, her shell was paper thin. 

All it took was a gentle, hushed voice and a calloused thumb brushing her cheek to disarm her completely. She hated being that vulnerable. Hated people seeing it. But what could she do? It happened. She didn’t bolt the second that tender implications were shared on the ramparts. Couldn’t exactly avoid him and pretend the entire day didn’t happen, though she desperately wished she could. She couldn’t bring herself to be a heartless asshole.

Not when he was being this sweet.

She hadn’t come to Skyhold with thoughts of making an… attachment. Far from it. It’d been years since she’d been intimate with anyone. Emotionally _or_ physically. It wasn’t exactly that she’d sworn off romance and tender feelings entirely. She was just… gingerly avoiding it at all costs wherever possible. 

… until it quite literally bumped into her in the shape of a handsome knight and insistently escorted her to bed. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she muttered to herself, taking another bite of toast and refilling her teacup. Where was her fearlessness, her rebellious defiance when she needed it? Even the _thought_ of him was making her stammer and blush like a hapless schoolgirl. What was _wrong_ with her??

Threading her fingers through her hair and gripping it tight, she pulled her knees to her chest and dropped her head on them. Maybe she’d feel better after the lesson. It’d give her something else to focus on. Maybe she’d get over her mortification. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so incredibly naked around him. 

Maybe. 

She raised her head at the sound of soft footsteps, her heart starting to beat like a drum. Was this the someone he’d sent to check up on her? Or was he coming himself? Please say he wasn’t coming himself. She might turn beet red and throw up again. 

She wasn’t sure when she’d held her breath, but it came out in a forced gasp when she saw a young elven servant gently knock on the door. “Oh Evie, it’s you. Good morning. Or wait, afternoon?” she sighed in relief, smiling apologetically. “I um… I’m really sorry. I got... _sick_.” She pointed to the soiled wash basin by the desk.

“It’s alright, my lady. Commander Rutherford warned there might be a… mess,” the girl smiled, looking her over carefully. “How are you feeling? He asked me to provide an update.”

Hawke bit her lip and found herself blushing, avoiding the elf’s twinkling eyes as she slurped her tea loudly. “... m’fine,” she mumbled, toes curling as she took another bite of bread. “Much better, thanks to his… delivery.” 

“Very good, I’ll tell him so,” the servant nodded, sucking in a breath and grimacing as she approached the basin. “I’ll just take this and replace it for you…” 

Suddenly an idea lit up her brain and she spun around on her seat, a dim twinkle beginning to emerge. “Actually Evie, wait a second.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Could you uh… would you mind arranging a little something for me?” she asked, chewing her lip with a nervous smile, finishing her tea and pouring another cup. 

“Of course, my lady. What is it?” 

“Think turnabout is fair play, don’t you? And a good way to thank him for this consideration,” she said, motioning to the half-empty tray. 

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you arrange a tray for Commander Rutherford? Should be around time for afternoon tea,” she grinned, suddenly feeling a ripple of smug satisfaction. “He’s usually holed up in his office. Not sure if he bothers to fuel himself properly.”

“No trouble at all. Would you like it delivered right away?” the young girl asked with a small knowing smile, appearing to enjoy being in on the surprise.

“Whenever you’re done with my awfulness. Again I’m so sorry about that. I’ll find a way to make it up to you,” Hawke said sheepishly, licking her lower lip and frowning thoughtfully. “Actually, something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, think I’ll send a note with it, if you don’t mind waiting a second,” she replied distractedly, getting up and heading for her desk, pulling out some fresh parchment.

“Not at all. I’m sure he’d appreciate the gesture,” the elf added with a helpful smile, keeping a safe distance from the basin and clasping her hands.

Hawke nodded vaguely, dipping her quill before scribbling:

_Sorry I wasn’t awake to greet you. Hopefully I wasn’t snoring too loud. Please accept this small token of thanks for your thoughtfulness._

_You’re always so hard at work, don’t forget to take a moment for yourself to recharge._

_Hawke_

She folded the note in four and labelled it “Cullen”, then handed it to Evie. “If you could tuck that somewhere on the tray, I’d be grateful,” she smiled, a strange shiver of excitement running through her. 

“Of course, my lady. With pleasure,” Evie smiled, offering a half curtsy before tucking the note in her pocket and carrying the basin away. 

When the elf disappeared, Hawke rubbed her hands together gleefully. “There we go, feel a bit better. I can be thoughtful too. _Ha_.”

  
  


A short while later, Hawke was feeling bouncy and refreshed as she walked barefoot on the ramparts. Sure, she was still in a bit of a state, but nowhere near as bad as she might’ve been. She ignored the curious stares of the apostates as they gathered, crossing her arms over her chest and craning her neck to see if Solas was on his way. And right on time, he gracefully appeared at her side. 

“Lady Hawke,” he nodded politely, eyes roaming her with amusement. “... you’re barefoot.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah,” she frowned, looking down with a shrug. 

“What happened to your armor?” he asked, tilting his head and fighting a small smile from appearing. 

“Uhhhh… that’s a really good question. Not entirely sure. Went missing last night,” she replied slowly, trying to dig into her wine-addled brain. 

Then suddenly his question was answered, as a figure stepped out onto the lower roof of the tavern, waving about dramatically. 

“Ooooh lookit me! I’m the Champion of Kirkwall! I’m a fancy mage, lookit my fancy armor!” Sera cackled, doing a spin as she made direct eye contact with Hawke. 

The apostate’s eyes narrowed as she walked closer to the rogue. “Oi! What’re you doing with that??”

“What you mean? I won it!” the elf quipped with a wide, shit-eating grin. “It’s mine now.”

“Oh no it’s not! There is NO way I’m letting you keep my armor. I’m taking it back as soon as I'm done here!” Hawke shouted with a laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “So enjoy it while you can.”

“I won it fair and square!” Sera protested grumpily, smoothing her hands over the chest piece. “Looks good on me.”

“I’m taking it back, Sera, and that’s that!” 

“Awww, you’re just sore cause you was starkers last night!” the elf teased with an evil twinkle in her eye. “And you woulda left that way too if’n Blackwall hadn’t given you his shirt.” 

Hawke let out a strangled noise, her cheeks turning a vivid pink as a chorus of muffled laughter rippled out from behind her, as well as below in the hold. It seemed their shouting had begun to attract attention. “I… _what_?” 

“You don’ ‘member? You lost last night, Champ. Like… a _lot_ . Like… _every_ round. Not that we was complainin’. Think we all agreed, you look waaaaayyyy better _without_ armor,” Sera grinned, wiggling her eyebrows lasciviously. 

The Champion’s mouth opened and closed a few times, that sense of mortification quickly returning. “Sera!! One more word and I will strike you down where you stand!” she finally managed to shout, a large smokey purple ball of spirit energy forming in her open palm. “Now take off that armor!”

Sera’s eyes widened at seeing the arcane ball, squeaking and waving her hands frantically. “I’m going, I’m going! Bah, you’re no fun when you’re sober…” And with that, the rogue disappeared back into her bedroom window. 

“Maker, kill me,” she muttered to herself, covering her face in her hands and shaking her head. Then with a measured breath, she straightened herself and pivoted on her heel, smiling tightly at the mirthful apostates. 

And Fade mage. Who was looking far too amused at the antics. 

“Well! That explains a few things about last night. Let that be a lesson to not drink and play Wicked Grace until two in the morning,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “So! Now that we’ve got that humiliating distraction out of the way, let’s begin the lesson properly. Summoning wisps. Who wants to recap what we’ve learned thus far?”

  
  


A short while later, all the apostates had summoned wisps and were dispersing onto the grounds, working to maintain their connection to the fragile spirits. Hawke and Solas lingered behind, overseeing them as they walked down the stairs by the tavern. 

“ _So_ ,” Solas said quietly, a smile tugging his lips as he looked at Hawke.

“Oh no,” Hawke muttered, scrunching her nose and giving him a dirty side glance. “We are _not_ talking about Sera. Or the tall tales she told... while wearing my armor.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” he said innocently, though the dim light in his eyes gave it away. 

“I’m glad I amuse, Master Solas,” she said dryly, shaking her head and avoiding his gaze. “Don’t worry folks! Just a short exercise. The wisps won’t do you any harm. In fact, feel free to say hello! They’re quite friendly.”

Everyone within earshot seemed to relax visibly, and though she was busy observing the apostates, it seemed that Solas was busy observing _her_. 

“... curious,” he finally said with a furrowed brow, placing his hands behind his back.

“Hm?” Hawke asked distractedly, taking count of all the mages and making sure they didn’t wander too far.

“Apart from your lack of footwear, you look rather… sprightly. All things considered,” he commented, giving her a questioning look.

“Meaning why am I not viciously hungover?” she smirked, clearing her throat and trying to will the creeping flush to her cheeks to stop. “I… you know. Recovered.”

“Recovered.”

“Mhm.”

“You possess an exceptional constitution?”

Hawke opened her mouth, making a sheepish noise and shaking her head, stomach fluttering at the thought of the tray that greeted her when she awoke. “... no.”

“Then--”

“Master Solas, you’re supposed to be helping me watch the mages,” she said reproachfully, clearing her throat and heading down the stairs to the lower grounds. 

“Of course. Ir abelas, Lady Hawke,” he bowed his head apologetically, though the glint in his eyes implied the opposite.

“Shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” she said wryly, offering him a sly side glance.

He cleared his throat and looked away, failing to fight off a smile. “Indeed.”

A few minutes after they made it to the gates, the apostates gathered with dozens of curious wisps circling them. 

“You did very well for your first time. Say your goodbyes and end the spell. We’ll pick up again tomorrow,” she nodded, smiling softly as she watched the spirits return to the Fade.

Solas walked back with her up the stairs after everyone had left, tilting his head to look at her. She caught his eye and made a questioning noise. “Yes, Master Solas?”

“Will you be meeting Dorian for tea now?” The question was casual, but there was something that tickled in the back of her mind. He was aware of her schedule? Well, she did have to pass through his rotunda every day, suppose it made sense. She _was_ a creature of habit.

“Planned to, but think I should retrieve my armor first before Sera does something to it. If she hasn’t already,” Hawke sighed, rubbing the side of her neck. 

“Prudent. This is where I leave you then,” he nodded, lips twitching as he turned to the right and returned to his study. 

Hawke waved vaguely and headed for the tavern, an uncomfortable squirming in her stomach. Great. So not only did she want to avoid Cullen for her behavior, now her embarrassment was compounded by her misadventures in the tavern. What next?

Her question was answered in another minute when she stepped inside and saw her armor piled onto a table, surrounded by Bull, the Chargers, Blackwall, Alistair and Sera. Wolf whistles, applause and teasing laughter followed as she approached, turning her face beet red. 

“I hate you all with the fire of a thousand suns,” she muttered, awkwardly gathering her armor in her arms, avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

“We all know you don’t mean it, Bright Eyes,” Bull said with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Was a fun night with friends, nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know, with the way Sera was _shouting at the top of her lungs_. It went from a fun night with friends to ‘Let’s humiliate Hawke in front of all of Skyhold’ pretty fucking quick,” she growled, flicking a finger and zapping the elf in the rear with a small bolt of lightning. 

“Ow ow ow! Alright, alright. Was only a bit of fun,” Sera hissed, rubbing her bum as she made a face. “No need to get in a strop.”

“I’m not in a strop. When I’m in a strop you’ll know. Cause your bed will be on _fire_ ,” Hawke huffed, scrunching her nose and making a face at the rogue, who stuck out her tongue in response. “Look, I just need to know, for my own peace of mind. Was I _naked_ naked, or did I manage to keep my smalls on?” 

Krem cleared his throat gently and fought a smile, his cheeks beginning to flush. “Smalls stayed on, my lady.”

“Thank fuck for that,” she sighed in relief, pushing her bangs out of her face. “Feel a bit better.”

“Nicest smalls I’ve ever seen though,” Sera whistled, making a quiet throaty noise. “Lace and tiny bows. Mm-mm.”

“Sera!” Hawke exclaimed with a laugh, grunting as she tried to add another piece of armor on. “Could we stop advertising what I wear beneath my armor to all and sundry? Honestly…”

“To be fair, my lady, it _was_ a bit of a surprise,” Blackwall said wryly, also fighting an amused smirk. “I mean, full, spiky armor on the outside, shockingly girlish on the inside.”

“Yeah well… I like it that way,” she muttered, sniffing and staring off in the distance. “Was like… my little secret thing. Except it’s not secret, thanks to someone’s blabber-mouth!”

Sera shrugged indifferently, taking a sip of ale and slurping it extra loud. “What? Was a great night. Had fun. And you finally sat in _my_ lap, not Bull’s.”

“Only cause I lost the wager,” Bull pointed out with a small smirk. 

“Yeah,” the elf scoffed, grinning widely. 

“... do I want to know?” Hawke sighed, tipping her chin to Krem so he could add her boots to her pile.

“A side wager started somewhere in the middle of the night. Guessing what your smalls looked like. Person who was closest would win. And given your string of losses… _well_. We found out, Sera won, and as a reward you agreed to sit in her lap for the rest of the night,” Blackwall explained calmly, struggling to muffle his laughter at Hawke’s increasingly horrified face.

“Maker’s Breath, how much did I have to drink?” she murmured to herself, brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Mightn’t mind so much if I could remember… literally _anything_ that happened. And I’d say I’m shocked that Alistair did _nothing_ to stop this but--”

Alistair’s eyes widened and he waved his hands quickly. “I tried, Hawke. Believe me I did. Then you went on a rant about how you’re a grown woman and they’re _your_ smalls and you can show or not show them to whoever you want.”

Hawke grunted and made an annoyed noise, cheeks still warm and pink. “... yeah. Sounds like me.”

“Anyway, you gonna join us again tonight?” Bull asked with a flirtatious wink, patting his leg invitingly. 

“Yeaaaaah… no? Think I’m gonna take the night off to shake off my persistent embarrassment. Raincheck?” she smiled tightly, giving them a farewell nod before making another face at Sera, and hauling her armor back to her tower. 

No point in changing now, best to put them somewhere safe. 

Exiting the tavern and making her way up the stairs, she was careful to avoid making direct eye contact with anyone passing. She wasn’t sure if she was happy knowing what happened last night. Might’ve been preferable to stay ignorant about her drunken antics.

But as her mind began to replay last night’s events over and over, a voice broke her distraction. 

“Hawke.”

Fucking Maker, no. _No_.

She froze on the spot, immediately turning a vivid pink at Cullen’s soft, husky tone. 

Dammit all. Could this day end already??

Slowly pivoting on her heel, she cleared her throat and smiled tightly as the Commander approached, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for tea,” he said with a wistful sigh. “It was a welcome break from the day.”

“Mhm. Well… thank you for the tray,” she mumbled sheepishly, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. “Was a… really nice surprise.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, care and concern painted on his face as he took another step closer. 

“Mostly human,” she replied, unconsciously biting her lip when he stopped only a foot away from her. She could almost feel his warm breath on her forehead. “Thanks to you.”

“I’m glad,” he said softly, tilting his head and observing her closely for a moment before tilting his chin to her armor. “Found it after all?” 

“Mhm. Sera had it. Was gonna dump it in my room before I visit with Dorian,” she nodded, chewing on her lip and desperately trying to make the flushing stop. 

It didn’t work. 

“Ah. Well… if it’s not too much trouble, might I stop by later this evening? I’d like to pick up my robe if I could. Been a bit chilly without it,” he said quietly, though his lips tugged in a teasing manner. 

“Shit. Right. I was going to drop that off. Uh… yeah. That’s fine. Tonight,” she said quickly, feeling nausea-inducing flutters again at his breathless sigh. 

“Good. I’ll speak with you later,” he murmured, warmth oozing out of every pore so much it made her chest ache. When he turned around, she winced and sped down the ramparts, trying to get as much distance between them. 

… why the hell did she say yes? She was supposed to say no! She couldn’t handle being alone with him, not even for a minute. Not _sober_. She barely managed it when she was nearly blind drunk! But every time he spoke in that hushed, gentle tone her heart skipped a beat, her mind went blank and she found herself saying yes.

Ugh. 

Maybe she was making too big a deal of it. He was just stopping by to pick up his robe. He’d be there and gone in a matter of seconds. That’d be fine. She could handle that. Right? She inhaled shakily as she headed up the stairs to her room, her armor wobbling precariously in her arms. 

What was it about him that had her so off-kilter? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her inwardly flail so much. Not Anders. Not Fenris. Not even-- mmm. Okay. Maybe _one_ person managed it. Long ago. But that was a different time, and she was a different person. 

Maybe it was simply that she was woefully out of practice. It’d been nearly a decade since her last relationship started. It’s not like she’d even properly courted Anders. They’d been friends for years already. And while she recovered from her heartbreak with Fenris, he was there to sweep her off her feet. Almost immediately. And… that was it. They were together. Living under the same roof. A presence so warm and comforting and familiar and-- 

So how exactly did it work now? How were people courting these days? Maker, why was she even thinking about this? She was far too old to be courted. She was closing in on forty for goodness’ sake. Which suddenly brought up the question -- how old was Cullen anyway? Had he even hit thirty yet? Good grief that made it feel even weirder. She’d taken it for granted that she was probably older than most of the Inquisition’s inner sanctum, save for a few. And no, age didn’t mean a whole lot but… _still_. 

Ugh. She needed a distraction. She needed to stop thinking about it. She dumped the armor next to her bed, noting that Evie must’ve cleaned up the tray. Though she left the second potion bottle and Cullen’s note neatly on the side table. Nope. Nope. Not thinking about it. Distracting herself. Getting out of here. 

Dorian would be good company. They could talk about anything under the sun, and often did. From magic to Tevinter to her life in Kirkwall to arguing about her refusal to dress better than a ‘drunken, homeless veteran’. Despite being keenly aware of fashion trends and having the funds to keep up with them. But Hawke preferred to blend in, and since most people wore common clothes, so did she. Dressing up was saved for her visits to Orlais. 

Thankfully, the magister was an utter delight as always, and the hours slipped away as they discussed history, magical anomalies and the latest books they’d been reading. They ended up having dinner together since it was a bit late for tea (not that they ever drank tea), and when she left him the sun had long since set and all thoughts of Cullen were driven out of her mind entirely. 

She’d been tempted to join Dorian and the others at the tavern, but then she was reminded that every single one of them knew she liked lacey, frilly smalls. As evidenced by her drunkenly prancing around in them and snoodling with Sera so… that idea was out. It was too early to go to bed, and part of her worried the nightmares would pick up now that she was sober. She’d been rubbed too raw yesterday, which was usually a guarantee that nightmares and insomnia would follow. Maybe something to keep her in a positive mindset might help. 

When she made it to her tower, she relit the fire and walked to her desk, smiling when she saw Cook had left her a nighttime snack on the side table. A bottle of wine, a plateful of chocolate cookies and a couple slices of fluffy white cake with fruit and cream inside. That woman spoiled her far too much.

Determining to indulge herself later, she returned her attention to her desk. There was a stack of large artist journals to the side. A collection she’d grown since early childhood. Where some people kept a written diary, Hawke had gotten into the habit of keeping a drawn one. Filling every nook and cranny of every page with portraits of people, sketches of animals, plant life, runes, ruins… anything and everything she could. A visual record of her life and where she’d been, and who she’d walked it with at every stage. 

Something about it always relaxed her, drove any and all worries from her mind. It gave her a chance to look back and reflect. To create something constructive out of the tangled mess that had become _her_. She grabbed the latest journal she’d been working in, and carelessly grabbed a bunch of pencils and charcoal, settling herself on the sofa. 

Hm. What to draw? 

The first thing that came to mind was the Tevene she’d just spent time with. Why not? If it turned out alright, she could give it to him tomorrow. She was almost certain he’d be amused by a portrait of himself. Who knows, maybe Dorian could give it to someone the way Lavellan had seemed to give hers to Solas. A little romantic gesture. 

She dropped the pencils on the side table to her right, leaving the tray of midnight goodies on the left side table. Then she crossed her legs and opened up the large journal to the first empty page. Hm. Now what angle would be the most attractive? Because of course that had to be factored in. 

She often worked without a live model, drawing only from memory. But her memory was unusually sharp, and she’d spent a lifetime capturing everyone down to the finest details. From their face to their posture to their mannerisms. She was a lifelong apostate. She had to be aware of her surroundings at all times to a near manic degree. The alternative was to be caught unawares. And she’d determined long ago to never let that happen.

Humming to herself, she reached for a fine pencil and sketched a loose outline of Dorian’s face. He was disgustingly handsome. Big blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass. Lips that were just the right shape and fullness, constantly hung to the right, teasing kisses but never giving them. He’d quickly become one of her favourite people in Skyhold, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. 

Time began to fly once she fell into a rhythm, reaching for some hard pressed charcoal to draw over the outline and fill in the larger details like his hair and moustache. She was singing softly to herself, pressing a finger into her cheek when she paused to observe her progress. Dammit, she shouldn’t touch her face. Hawke sighed and quickly pulled her hand away, nose scrunching at how black the tips of her fingers were. Drawing often left her messy after, as she liked to rub the charcoal here and there, adding depth and shadow to her images. By the time she finished, her face, hands and clothes were often littered with countless smudges. Ah well, she’d just wash up after.

Then out of nowhere she heard a knock at the door, abruptly interrupting her focus and making her jolt in her seat. What? Who was calling at this hour? What time was it anyway? Turning her head to the doorway with a furrowed brow, her cheeks went pale at the sight of Cullen standing in the open door way. She really needed to remember to close her door. 

She was suddenly reminded of his request to pick up his robe, and her heart leapt to her throat. Right. She said it was fine. And then proceeded to forcefully forget about it out of sheer nerves. _Right_ . She needed to stop doing that. It might help ‘present’ her, but it _always_ screwed over ‘future’ her. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said quietly, lips tugging on the right as he observed her. 

“No, no it’s fine. Your robe. Sorry, I forgot,” she nodded, carefully laying the journal to the side and thoughtlessly wiped her hands on her fine, satin pants. 

Watching that, he opened his mouth to warn her, but thought better of it and nodded, taking a few tentative steps inside. “Yes, thank you.”

She got up to reach for his robe, still folded neatly on top of the sofa when she suddenly paused and inhaled sharply. “Right. _Hands_. You should probably grab it yourself,” she chuckled, holding out her blackened fingertips. “I’d hate to ruin it.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, picking up the robe and opening his mouth again, though only a furtive sigh came out. “... do you have a moment to talk?”

Hawke made a strangled noise, feeling her cheeks warm up while her stomach twisted into one big knot. “... mhm,” she finally managed to say, motioning towards the sofa with her chin.

He smiled gratefully and nodded, veering to the left while she went right, rushing when she saw her journal and drawing utensils were blocking him from taking a seat. “Ah, sorry. Let me get this out of your way…”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know you were an artist,” he commented with interest, craning his neck to look at the journal. “Dorian?”

“Mhm. Thought it might amuse him,” she admitted, closing the journal and sticking it in her lap as she sat down cross legged again. 

It was then that she noticed something rather unusual. He wasn’t wearing his normal plate armor. Instead he was wearing fitted brown slacks and a deep blue, button-up tunic. Had she ever seen him out of soldier’s garb? She couldn’t think of a single time. Even in Kirkwall he wore the Red Templar gear. Though to be fair, they’d never met outside of ‘official’ business except that one time at the tavern. And of course, he was in full uniform then.

So why the change? 

Not that she was complaining, exactly. The shirt fit him quite well, teasing at his muscled, well-formed physique. The top buttons open juuuust enough to get a glimpse at his chest. Just barely. And the tunic brought out the amber of his eyes. A simple outfit, but it was fairly high quality material and tailored. It suited him rather well.

Cullen cleared his throat, cheeks turning a faint pink at her sudden and intent gaze. “Yes, I suppose you haven’t seen me in civilian clothes before. Is it really that unusual?”

“Well… yeah,” she admitted with a sheepish smile, averting her eyes and shrugging in embarrassment. “Couldn’t think of a time where you weren’t dressed like a soldier. It’s not bad, it’s just…” 

“... different. Yes,” he nodded slowly, a soft light behind his eyes as he tilted his head to watch her. “Suppose I could say the same about your clothes now. I’ve only ever seen you in that armor. Since the first day we met.”

“Mmm. Actually stopped wearing it after Kirkwall. Only brought it back for Skyhold cause… you know. Keeping up appearances or something,” she smiled, fingers wrapping around the edge of her journal nervously, trying not to scream in panic at the feeling of his eyes roaming her quietly. 

“Playing the role. I understand.” Cullen lips curled into a bare smile, inhaling shakily as he continued to watch her. “I had hoped we could talk about yesterday.”

Hawke’s cheeks became hotter and she grunted, feeling her stomach do a series of uncomfortable flip-flops. 

“And I’d thought, after what happened, it seemed only fair that you should get to see me without my armor as well,” he said softly, the finest undercurrent of gravel in his voice. His words thick with meaning. 

A shocked gasp forced its way from her lips, eyes drawn to him against her will, staring at him incredulously. “... what?” she laughed quietly in disbelief, shaking her head and rubbing her cheek. “I-- you-- you didn’t have to do that.” 

“No, but I _wanted_ to,” he replied, biting his lower lip and smiling as he motioned to her hand. “Hawke, your fingers…” 

“Ah shit, I always forget,” she huffed, standing up and realizing she’d smudged charcoal onto her dress pants too. “Fucking-- _every_ time. I swear to--”

“It’s fine,” he chuckled, eyes following her as she went to the basin and began to vigorously wash her hands. “I’m sure my interruption didn’t help.”

“I guess,” she sighed, trying to clean the charcoal out from under her fingernails. “But um, that was… sweet of you. To do that. Armor, I mean.”

“I know I caught you… unawares. I hadn’t meant to--” 

“No, of course you didn’t--”

“And I shouldn’t have--”

“-- I mean, _I_ really shouldn’t have--”

“But you were--”

“-- yeah, I _really_ was--”

“And it just--”

“It just--” 

“--- came out,” they both said in unison, making Hawke freeze and spin around to look at him, laughing self-deprecatingly. He chuckled as well, rubbing his thumb over his lips, eyes glimmering warmly. 

“Well. I’m glad you remembered last night. I wasn’t sure you would,” he admitted gently, resting his forearm on the back of the sofa.

“I mean… I forgot large chunks, but somehow all the bits with _you_ in it are fairly well seared into my brain,” she teased, sighing and soaking a small face cloth and walking to the mirror to clean her cheeks up. “Kind of hard to forget making a fool of myself in front of you. Again. _Again_ again.”

“You didn’t,” Cullen protested, sitting up with a furrowed brow. “I-- it was understandable. After what happened, after what you shared. It… _I’m_ the one who should be embarrassed, pushing you as hard as I did in my office. I never meant-- I would _never_ want to hurt you like that. It _won’t_ happen again.”

Hawke felt her chest tighten and she sighed, gripping the face cloth as she stared back at him through the reflection. “You didn’t. It’s not your fault. I just… it was just a really rough day. I have them sometimes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” he said quietly, lips pressed into a thin line when she finally returned to the sofa and took a seat. “I let my temper--”

“Pretty sure I started screaming first, so let’s not give you all the credit when it comes to tempers,” she smirked, raising a knee and resting her elbow on it, scratching the top of her scalp. “So really _I_ should be the one apologizing.” 

“We’re both sorry then. I suppose that’s the first half of the day cleared up,” he smiled ruefully, scratching his jaw idly. 

“Guess,” she nodded, wrapping her hands around her ankle and resting the side of her head on her knee. 

“Which leads me to the _second_ half,” he murmured, the barest smile stretching his lips as he inched closer. 

Hawke’s breath caught in her throat, heart beginning to hammer as he slowly closed the distance between them. “... uh-huh. You mean, where I embarrassed the fuck out of myself and went on and on about your looks like some idiot schoolgirl? Not much to clear up there.”

“Coming from you, it was hard not to enjoy the compliments,” he admitted, biting his lip and fighting a grin. “Still, I thought it was better to speak when you were sober, so there would be no doubt.” 

“No doubt?” she parroted dumbly, sucking in a breath when his fingers pushed her bangs away and tucked them behind her ear. 

“That I meant what I said last night. Because I did.” His words were both soft and firm at the same time. Confident, unwavering, but with such a tender delivery that it sent butterflies spinning around her stomach. 

Hawke gasped, but found herself at a complete loss for words, caught in his earnest, warm gaze. Which only emboldened Cullen, as his fingers trailed along her jaw with a wistful smile. “How is it that every time I think I have a grasp on the world, you walk in and shake it all up again?”

She scrunched her nose and shrugged stupidly, biting her lip to fend off a smile. “Dunno.”

“I thought I knew what you’d been through. I thought I knew the weight you bore. I had no idea, did I?” he sighed, brushing his thumb against her cheek, eyebrows pinching together with concern. 

“... no one does. Not really,” she said quietly, eyes going distant as she turned to face the fire. “They’re not supposed to. _You_ weren’t supposed to.”

“But I do. And I’m glad. For the first time, I caught a glimpse at the woman behind the myth,” he murmured, a crooked smile curving his lips. 

Hawke groaned and chuckled, turning back to him with an amused glimmer. “Oh no, not you too. Tell me you didn’t see me the way they do,” she motioned to the rest of the hold with her lips. “I mean, you were actually there. You know the truth behind--”

“-- I don’t. Our talks yesterday made me realize how little I know. And how much I’d like to know more,” he sighed shakily, finally pulling his hand away and leaning against the sofa. “You’re an incredible woman, Hawke.”

“I don’t get it,” she said bluntly with a self-deprecating laugh, scrunching her nose shyly, slowly sitting up to face him. 

“Get what?” he asked curiously, tilting his head with a warm smile. 

“ _You_ . Why did you not run for the hills, after everything? Takes a particular kind of twisted to see me in all my bent and broken glory, and _want_ to stay. Want to see more,” she admitted quietly, unable to hide the shame in her voice.

“Maybe this is where I should remind you that despite your generous words, I’m no prince,” he quipped wryly, eyes twinkling when she chuckled and nodded. “Only a coward would run from a woman who opened herself up so completely. You can’t scare me, Hawke.”

She made a soft noise, breath hitching as her eyes roamed him slowly with a subtle shake of her head. “... and what if _I’m_ scared of _you_?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, just the tiniest bit shaky. 

“Ah, now that _is_ a bit more difficult,” he nodded, though the warmth of his smile never wavered. “I don’t expect you to hand me your trust, Hawke. I expect to earn it. Something I will gladly do, if you’ll allow it.”

Hawke groaned and sighed, covering her face with a hand. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering since he showed up. But with what seemed to be a recurring theme, she found it difficult to think straight with him so close. Particularly when his scent wafted much more strongly her way. Maker, it was even better in person. 

Finally, she gave up the struggle and looked at him with a self-deprecating smile. “I’d be a fool not to. No one needs to tell me, I know it. A man like you doesn’t come around often, if _ever_.”

Cullen laughed in surprise, quickly turning a bright pink as he averted his gaze. “You give me far too much credit, Champion.”

“ _Hawke_.”

“Yes. _Hawke_ ,” he repeated softly, that devastating small, crooked smile appearing and making her heart skip a beat. 

A tense silence crept up on them when Cullen hesitantly reached a hand out to stroke her hair. She bit her lip and sucked in a sharp breath at realizing how close he was, though she unconsciously leaned into it. She felt her bubbling anxieties begin to drift away at the soothing touch, and her head began to hang down, silently encouraging him to continue. A small but pleased smile painted his mouth, his fingers moving in a slow, gentle rhythm. 

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that, but eventually she felt a warm breath by her ear. “You’re safe, Hawke. You’ll always be safe with me.”

The words were so husky they sent a shiver up her spine, and pierced her chest deeply. She gasped in shock, feeling her eyes glisten despite herself. And before she knew it, she hid her face in his neck, and Cullen wrapped his arms around her. 

Words she always longed to hear, words she’d heard before. But every time it was hollow. Every time it was a lie. And every time she was left alone.

Everything inside her said to back away. Don’t give in. Soft words and warm intentions and strong arms. Don’t fall for it. It didn’t matter how much he meant it. Didn’t matter how much she wanted it. It was never true. 

She was _never_ safe. She could _never_ catch a break. Not a real one. Not the kind she so desperately needed.

But there was just… _something_ . Something about him she couldn’t put a pin on. It terrified her to her core. But she wanted to believe him. And she almost did. _Almost_. 

Eventually she snaked her arms around his waist, making a quiet noise when he sighed shakily and held her closer in response. And though it made her chest alternate between tightening and twisting and fluttering, she appreciated the silence that fell between them. He didn’t have to say anything, and neither did she. 

Again, time seemed to fade and slip away, until he slowly rubbed her back and pressed his lips to her temple. “... it’s getting late. You should get some rest,” he murmured, reluctantly pulling back just enough to look at her with the kind of tender smile that made her stomach do jumping jacks.

“Mhm,” she nodded, chewing on her lower lip and finding herself unable to meet his eyes. 

“Can I see you again? Like this?” he asked gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek. 

Hawke nodded slowly, withdrawing her hands from his waist sheepishly. Then she looked up at him with a shy, furtive look. “... no armor?” 

Cullen chuckled and nodded, impulsively kissing the side of her temple, letting his hand fall from her cheek to rub her arm. 

“No armor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (8/28/20) Ugh. It is so sweet and wholesome. My heart cannot take LOL


End file.
